every single time
by silver-kin
Summary: It always begins the same way. (FuruMiyu Week 2014)
1. Chapter 1

Notes: Written for FuruMiyu Week (2014), prompt: conflict. Inspired by and based, with utmost respect, on the lovely art by swimmingaomines over at tumblr.

Disclaimer: Diamond no Ace belongs to Terajima Yuuji.

**every single time 01 – Day 2: Conflict**

They don't say a word to each other for the rest of the night. The dirty dishes sit unwashed in the sink; the matching mugs sit untouched on the counter, next to the now cold kettle.

Furuya surrenders for bed at 10:37pm. His day clothes go into the hamper, switched out for a thinner t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Pausing by the edge of the bed, he glances to the door, which he has left slightly open. His bones feel heavy

He slips under the covers, and stares up at the ceiling.

Sleep doesn't come.

By the time the door creaks open, Furuya is still wide awake, curled up on his side with his eyes closed. He hears the slow patter of footsteps crossing the room, and then the mattress is dipping behind him, cloth rustling softly. The other man tugs at the covers, carefully; Furuya loosens his grip just a fraction, and listens as Miyuki settles in for the night.

The space between them yawns wide, unresolved.

Furuya blinks rapidly, bites his lip against the prickling in his eyes.

_If I could,_ he almost says, but even that isn't good enough. Nothing is.

And nothing will be.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Written for FuruMiyu Week (2014), prompt: bears.

Disclaimer: Diamond no Ace belongs to Terajima Yuuji.

**every single time 02 – Day 3: Bears**

Furuya fingers the keychain gingerly. The white cotton is still stain-free, pure as new snow, and it's two black eyes gaze up at him. The polar bear is smiling, wide and innocent; Furuya traces the sown-on line with his thumb, compares it to Miyuki's embarrassed smile when he had first presented the gift, his cheeks flushed pink—compares it to Miyuki's cold sneer of two days later, twisted and mocking.

Standing, Furuya stomps over to the bathroom. His throat burns bitter, and he pitches the tiny, 100 yen trinket into the trash with enough force to shake the bin.

He doesn't pause. Grabbing his cap, he yanks the door open, and slams it shut behind him.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he bursts into the room, gasping for breath. Stumbling into the bathroom, he drops to his knees beside the metallic bin, plunges both arms through the rubbish until he finds what he's looking for.

The keychain feels so small in his palm, even smaller when he holds it tight against his chest. Furuya grits his teeth, locking his jaw determinedly.

The tears come anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: Written for FuruMiyu Week (2014), prompt: first time. A Puella Madoka Magica au.

Disclaimer: Diamond no Ace belongs to Terajima Yuuji.

**every single time 03 – Day 1: First Time**

_Furuya stares, watching the black dust rise into the air, spiral into a shape he doesn't recognise. It solidifies with a deafening bang, shakes the ground beneath him. There are no words for the way his heart clenches tight in his chest._

_"There's no helping it," Kyubey echoes. "All wishes must balance out."_

_Furuya closes his eyes, and remembers._

* * *

He doesn't know where he is, or how he got here. The only thing he can concentrate on is the soothing lull of the voice in his mind, and the sweet promises it makes. The world around him is lit by dim blue lights, singing of better places, of quiet oblivion.

It is easy, he realises, to just let go.

* * *

"He's waking up."

Furuya blinks. The spots in his vision clear to reveal a grinning face, one that is vaguely familiar. He squints, trying to remember.

"Oi oi. Is that anyway to thank the people who just saved your butt?"

"Give him a moment, Miyuki. Let him clear his head."

Furuya jerks upright. "Miyuki Kazuya."

The other boy fixes him with a suspicious look, one eyebrow raised in question. "Have we met?"

He ducks his head, feels his cheeks warm with rapidly. "Ah. No."

"But you know me," Miyuki says, leaning in slightly.

_People talk about you,_ he wants to say, but that feels vaguely inappropriate, so he keeps it to himself. Instead, he presses his lips together tightly, and frowns down at his lap.

"He's wearing our school uniform."

Furuya startles, belatedly registering the second voice he heard. He glances to his right, where another boy is sitting on the ledge, arms crossed, watching him with bright yellow eyes. Furuya doesn't recognise him.

"Our school is pretty big, senpai."

"You _are_ more well-known than most, though."

Miyuki flusters at that, straightening out of his casual crouch at Furuya's side and dusting his palms on the front of his pants. To Furuya, he holds out a hand. "Come on. Can you stand?"

Furuya lets the other boy pull him to his feet, feeling light-headed. The world tilts abruptly, and he staggers, nearly falls over. Hasty hands steady him, and Miyuki shoulders his weight in an effort to keep him upright. "Still a little out of it then. Guess we're gonna have to carry you back."

"Sorry," he mumbles, leaning heavily against the solid warmth at his side.

"Don't worry about it," the other boy says. "Where do you live?"

Furuya tries to tell them the address to his house, but the words trip over each other as they fall of his tongue. His eyelids hang low, and he feels drowsier with each breath.

The last thing he remembers is Miyuki's voice, floating towards him through the insistent pull of sleep.

* * *

The clock chimes the hour, rings loud in the spacious room of Chris' apartment.

"Mahou shounen," Furuya repeats, deadpan.

"Actually, the proper term for it is 'pueri magi,'" Chris supplies helpfully, poking his head into the living room momentarily to smile at Furuya, "but it hasn't been used in a while."

"Not that you have to remember that," Miyuki chirps in. "In fact, you can forget everything we told you. As long as you promise not to tell anyone about what you saw."

Furuya stops wondering if he should laugh, and nods earnestly. Then, "Thank you."

Miyuki stares at him. "For what?"

"The other day," he says. "For helping me."

The second-year laughs. "It was my pleasure, Furuya Satoru," he says, winking at him.

Furuya's stomach flops, once.

* * *

"I don't understand why you insist on coming along," Miyuki is saying, as he adjusts his cap. Kyubey trots beside him, turns to peer at Furuya.

"Sounds like someone else I know," Chris comments casually, not looking away from the glowing gem cradled in his palm.

Miyuki doesn't reply to that, but Furuya can see the tint of red to his ears, the flush creeping up his nape.

Furuya tucks his chin to his chest, his stomach churning, but plods on regardless. The baseball bat he's carrying bounces off his shoulder in an irregular, restless rhythm. "I want to help."

"Is that so?" Miyuki asks, glancing back at him. "And how exactly are you planning on doing that? By whacking the bad boys with your precious wooden bat?"

Furuya scowls at his feet. "It's still 'helping.'"

The older boy scoffs, jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Sure sure."

A thought occurs to him, suddenly. "Or I could make a contract too."

The two boys freeze in place. Furuya stops too, and the night air is suddenly a hundred degrees colder than before. His skin prickles with goosebumps, and he wonders what he said wrong this time.

Miyuki turns to face him properly. His eyes are cold as ice, and his words cut sharp into Furuya's bones. "No."

"Actually, I think that's a great idea," Kyubey pipes up. "The demons have been increasing lately. You two could use the help—"

"Not happening," Miyuki hisses. "_Ever._"

Furuya swallows hard, doesn't argue.

* * *

"It's too dangerous," Miyuki pants. His grip on Furuya's shoulder tightens to an extent that is almost painful. "You need to leave."

Furuya shakes his head.

"We can't spare the energy to babysit you this time," he snaps, glancing over his shoulder to where sun-bright yellow sparks are dancing in the air, only barely keeping the darkness at bay. "You're just getting in the way."

He winces at that, as the realisation sinks heavy in his heart. Chewing on his lower lip, he says, "Miyuki-senpai."

The other boy exhales loudly, a frustrated sound. "Furuya, just—"

"You'll be safe?" he blurts out.

Miyuki raises his head, meets Furuya's eyes with his own startled gaze. The grip on his shoulder loosens, his expression softens. "Yeah," Miyuki says quietly, looking a touch uncomfortable. "Of course. Don't we always win?"

Furuya nods, slowly, lets the hope wafting up from Miyuki's words ease the fear ringing in his bones.

"Now go home," the boy says, slapping his shoulder gently. "I'll text you when we've finished up here, so don't stay up all night worrying."

* * *

Furuya does just that, tossing around fitfully in bed. He checks his phone every few minutes, thinking that he might have missed the notifying vibration of a new message, and is disappointed every time. The unease in his stomach grows steadily, chases any chance of sleep in favour of staring intently at his phone, willing it to blink to life.

He clutches his phone tight to his chest, buries his face in the pillows until he has to fight to breathe.

* * *

Miyuki's message arrives at 3:16am.

* * *

The first thing Furuya does when he reaches school—45 minutes before the bell rings, a new personal record—is to head straight for the second year's floor. There is a moment's hesitation at the hallway just outside the elevator, when he realises he has no idea where Miyuki's class is, or what time Miyuki usually comes to school.

After about five minutes dawdling by the entrance, he decides to check all the classes, one by one. When he doesn't find the person he's looking for, he returns to the hallway, settles into a corner, and waits.

Ten minutes before classes officially start, the elevator doors slide open and a torrent of students pour out. Among them is Miyuki.

Furuya marches forward, stops halfway, and says, "Miyuki-senpai."

The second-year glances in his direction. Furuya watches as his hazel brown eyes widen.

For a while, neither of them move, the both of them staring at each other in complete silence. Just as Furuya is nearly tipping over the edge of panic, Miyuki chuckles and takes the few steps necessary to stand in front of him.

"Furuya," he says, and there is something about his smile that Furuya doesn't quite understand. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he parrots, ducking his head in a slight bow. He hesitates, before pushing on with, "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine, just as I said I'd be." Miyuki cocks his head, and that strange smile dissolves as quickly as it came, replaced by a wide smirk. "What? Were you worried?"

"Yes," he mumbles, cursing the way his face suddenly feels warm.

Miyuki sighs. "Even after I told you not to?" he asks.

"Yes." His cheeks are _burning_ and he doesn't even know why.

But then Miyuki chuckles, quietly, and not at all like his usual mocking laughter.

And now his chest is warming too, inexplicably, and Furuya wonders.

* * *

"—not a demon," Chris says, frowning at his tablet.

Furuya blinks at him, looks questioningly to Miyuki.

The other boy leans back in his seat. "Remember what I told you that day? It was a lot more dangerous than the average demon."

He takes a moment to consider that. "Couldn't it just be stronger than the others?"

"You mean like a higher grade demon?"

Chris hums. "There's a thought. Although if that were true, why did it turn up so suddenly? All the other demons we fought before have always had approximately the same strength."

"Maybe," Furuya offers, "someone was having a bad day?"

"An _extremely_ bad day," Miyuki adds, grinning at Furuya. "Anyway, senpai, it was only the one demon. Isn't it a bit early to be making theories?"

Chris smiles sheepishly. "I suppose you're right. It's just a little worrying."

"It's alright," Miyuki says. "We'll manage somehow. We always do."

* * *

_No,_ Furuya thinks, as a dull weight sinks into his bones. Above him, the sky blazes bright with streaks of light, before fading into the night.

_Not always._

* * *

Kyubey is watching him intently, waiting. "What will you do, Furuya Satoru? Do you have a wish that's worth your life?"

"Yes," Furuya says, his throat tight. "I want—"


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Written for FuruMiyu Week (2014). Set in Nori and tadanoitsuki's long sleeves verse. Please check it out over at AO3 because it is absolutely fantastic.

Disclaimer: Diamond no Ace belongs to Terajima Yuuji.

**every single time 04 – Day 1: Anything/Free Day**

**1.**

Furuya is napping when he gets back.

_Surprise surprise,_ Miyuki thinks drily, staring down at the sprawl of limbs on the couch. Furuya has his head tucked into a corner, one hand hanging limply off the side of the couch, fingers curled loosely on the floor. Miyuki idly contemplates waking him, maybe by sprinkling water in his face and watching him startle, wide-eyed and surprised.

_(Or maybe with a hand in Furuya's hair, scratching at his scalp and watching as he gradually blinks away the last traces of his dream. And maybe catching his small yawn with a kiss, sweet despite the stale morning breath of sleep, and letting Furuya sigh into his mouth until he's properly awake)_

Miyuki spins on his heels, runs to the bathroom. He grips the edge of the sink, squeezes his eyes shut.

_Too late,_ he tells himself, feeling the words sink heavy in his stomach. _Too late._

**2.**

Miyuki pockets the last of his change. "Thank you," he says to the lady behind the cashier, and picks up the plastic bag she has packed for him.

She smiles. "Come again, Miyuki-kun. It's always a pleasure to see you."

Miyuki laughs, feels his cheeks warm with embarrassment. He turns from her with a final wave, and steps outside. The sun beats down in full force, burning his skin, and he can already feel a bead of sweat trailing down his spine.

Furuya is slumped against the wall, cap pulled low over his eyes, shoulders drooping, and lips parted in a tiny 'o'.

The sight makes Miyuki's stomach twist with fondness; he jabs an elbow into Furuya's side. "Oi."

Furuya tilts his head sideways, peels an eye open to stare at him.

"I'm done."

He sighs heavily, and pushes off against the wall, wobbling slightly before he straightens. He squints at Miyuki, eyes scrunched shut despite the shade his cap provides.

Miyuki laughs. "You are pathetic," he says, without any real heat. "Honestly, you should have just stayed home like I told you to."

Furuya ducks his head, mumbles a reply too quiet and too jumbled for Miyuki to have any hope of understanding.

He glances across the road, to the nearby cafe still bustling with activity. He turns back to Furuya, bumps their arms together. "Come on. Let's get some ice cream before we head back."

His expression brightens immediately, eyebrows arching high.

Miyuki grins, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. "My treat."

**3.**

The weight of Furuya's stony gaze sits heavy on his shoulders. Miyuki keeps his back turned, grits his teeth.

After a long, burning silence, Miyuki hears Furuya walk away, footsteps slapping loud against the floor. He hears the sound of a door being yanked open, and then slamming shut.

Miyuki waits a beat longer, feels himself shaking. There's an old dread settling in his chest, burning the insides of his wrist.

He retreats to the kitchen.

* * *

Miyuki doesn't hear the door open, too focused on his task to register anything beyond the measured curl of black over white. He doesn't even realise Furuya's back until he glances around, looking for a clean cloth, and spots Furuya standing by the doorway.

He freezes, breath catching in his throat.

Furuya's eyes flick over to the table, to the six freshly-baked cupcakes lined up on a tray in two neat rows. Half of them are already decorated—white icing fluffed up into familiar shapes, each wearing tiny, nearly identical smiles.

"Uh." Miyuki tugs at his left sleeve. "I'm not finished with them, but you can have one. If you want."

Furuya's gaze darts back to him. He closes his eyes, takes a deep, preparatory breath.

"Sorry," Miyuki blurts out.

His eyes snap open once more, startled.

Miyuki looks away, fingers worrying over cloth, heart pounding.

And then Furuya's padding over, wrapping him in an embrace so tight that it crushes all the air from his lungs. "Miyuki," he murmurs shakily. "Miyuki," he says again, kissing at his nape, sighing into his hair.

He drops his face against Furuya's shoulder, feels the relief all the way down to his bones.

**(1.)**

Furuya curls around him, noses along his collarbone to sigh against his neck. His eyes are closed, his fingers fisted in the back of Miyuki's t-shirt, giving him time, giving him space.

Miyuki's heart stutters wildly in his ribcage. _Satoru,_ he wants to say, but the name is lodged deep in the back of his throat, far out of his reach. He licks his lips, blinks rapidly at the crown of Furuya's head. Furuya's hair is soft in his hands, familiar, and Miyuki wants to try.

"Furuya," he whispers, feels his palms prickle with nerves.

His breathing is steady, quiet. Waiting.

(He wants to try)

"I lo—"


End file.
